


The ratio of stars to freckles

by Chaotic_actualizationz



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors (Homestuck), Dream Bubbles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_actualizationz/pseuds/Chaotic_actualizationz
Summary: Karkat meets the Signless and co in the dream bubbles and gets to work out some latent issues. More chapters to be added.





	The ratio of stars to freckles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CynziDragonPazza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynziDragonPazza/gifts).

> Part of a collab with TTMIH! Go check them out!!

The smoke of a bonfire was the most noticeable scent at first. Ashy and warm, the domestic sort of inferno. You felt yourself ease up the slightest bit as you mulled over the smell; there were savory notes to it, a hearty slab of meat slowly roasting over an open flame and the fragrance of charring wood. Of course, being dead, you hungered no longer but the idea of getting to distract yourself at least momentarily with a primitively cooked meal was too comforting to pass up. Your stomach growled in spirit and the now unnecessary instinct of fueling your body drew you towards the rising pillar of smoke in the distance, partially obscured by the forest canopy.

Leaves and stray twigs rustled and cracked underfoot, and your ears perked up at the murmur of conversation up ahead. You strained to make out something intelligible from the muted jumble of syllables you picked up on, and the more you listened the more you could single out individual voices.

As far as you were able to discern, there were four. The first one you identified was notably feminine in pitch and singsong in tune, and with a feline emphasis. The next was nasal and buzzing, leaning more into the higher end of the masculine spectrum with a noticeable lisp. Voice three was maternal and modulated...

And voice four, that was distressingly like your own. Like the way some of the other yous sounded after years of mellowing out, a roaring fire turned to dull embers, the remains of a screech turned into deep echo.

Your memories blended together into a grinding morass of fallen concrete and lava and blood blurring at the edges, black ramparts and scorched towers of pulse and haze. In the distance, harsh, humid swampland leaks into the lakes of red. Somewhere behind you, a massive tower falls, and falls, and falls again. Walking down this grey brick road makes your skin stand on end. It's something you took at much higher speed in life, sickles at the ready, but now it feels like a slow walk to your execution.

When they come into view, it's all you can do to narrow your eyes in half-remembered understanding. It's not just your voice speaking, no -- it's someone similar, but _worse_. A voice you really wished you'd never have to hear again from the dreambubbles, but then again, the deepness, the richness, makes you question your own presupposition. This is no mere chattering Kankri to be found, destroying your precious hear ducts with the inane ramblings of a preachy Seer. No, this is someone who, most importantly, knows how to shut the fuck up. Talk is good, but sometimes, it's important to listen.

The Signless sweeps his way over the unfamiliar memory, his entourage in tow. Stubble marks his face, a permanent stain of unshaven face, one of the criminal marks, the crime of being lowblooded. Even you knew that a scruffy face was a permanent reminder of someone's animal, lowblooded nature, more like a lusus than a person. And yet, here he stands at the tip of this raised chunk of land, the light of blooded lava highlighting his features in a frame of red and orange.

The facts of the matter are that you didn't know that the Signless was really a person that existed. You, of course, had your suspicion, but you dismissed them all as heretical stories, and the last thing you needed on your search history is a log of looking up information about a hazy, might-have-happened rebellion. Even during the game and during your trip, when you had all the time to research in the world, you never felt the need to dig into your past too much. But, all of a sudden, you're stricken with this sense of harsh reality despite the infinite murk of the dreambubbles.

On some level, there was the obvious connection between that screeching, chittering grub you made, the fact that your sign was shared by a mysterious other, and you -- this idea that maybe there was more to the legend than what was whispered about by the adherents that passed you by in the streets from time to time. And, of course, as legends go, this legend was flesh and blood in front of you. He turns to the girl cloaked in olive green, and you get a flash of recognition in her silhouette. Not from her end, but from yours, your face making this strange sort of infuriated pucker. You recognize that glimmer, the same as it was in the chitinous not-Nepeta you spawned, the one that you later learned became Meulin, and you guess, is the Empress-damned Disciple, of all people.

Of course. Why not? And that must mean that the other two, Mituna, Porrim, they're those people standing by his flank. The Psiioniic in a dumb fucking wetsuit sort of dealie, and a figure you don't even recognize outside of it obviously being Porrim. Their hair isn't the same, and any possible tattoos are covered up by the sweeping, grand affair of a dress, but you'd recognize the intensity of her eyes anywhere, peering right through you. It's not pity, but something more like protectiveness you detect in her yellow gaze. You feel this sensation of both fear and comfort overwhelming you at once, both hitting you with full intensity. You're frozen in place, while they turn and whisper and talk among themselves.

And he comes down to meet you and steps against you and the Signless, the fucking Signless of all people, sweeps you up into his arms, and his voice is like a buzzing hot pad against a sore back. It sounds the way the blood feels pulsing through your ears when you get angry, but with all the edges worn off from years of being ground down with a whetstone. "How'd it go?" He asks you, and you feel yourself getting blubbery and inelegant. You hate it. He pats you on the back and you hate it more, leaning into him.

"It kind of started to go to shit real fast." You respond, burrowing your face in the crook of his shoulder. His hands rub your back while the other three make their way down onto your platform, and you hiccup a little once the tears begin flowing like lava carving across the dirt. "It sucked."

"I'm sure you did just fine, Karkat. You did your best."

"How would you know, n-nooksniffer?"

He laughs, two big belly laughs degrading quickly into an array of hiccup-like chuckles. He bends down and looks you in the eye. "Every Karkat that comes here, they all did their best. Now... wanna head back to camp and we'll get you some roast cholerbear?"

You choke back some kind of noise. You're not sure what. "Yeah. Whatever. Fine."


End file.
